A World Unseen
by fieldagent85
Summary: When Martha returns from Washington during Senate recess, Lionel encourages her to confront the feelings between them. UPDATED 7/1
1. Chapter 1

**To those also reading "Lesser Angels" -- the story is still continuing, as well as this one. I just needed to get this one off my chest. Thanks for all the support! :)**

**1.**

Lionel observed the bottle of brandy waiting for him on his desk carefully, smiling secretively before opening the note that had accompanied it.

_Lionel, _

_Just a little gesture to make up (hopefully) for being such a deadbeat friend lately. Hope to see you at the party fundraiser tomorrow night. _

_Best, _

_M.K._

He sighed with satisfaction and re-read the note several times before folding it and slipping it into his shirt pocket. He sat down in his large, leather chair and stared blankly ahead for a few moments, ruminating upon the possibilities of the Senator's impending return to Kansas. It had been nearly six months since he had laid eyes on her, almost a year since he'd had any kind of meanginful conversation with her. He often called her apartment in D.C., though she rarely answered, and sent her the occasional postcard from his travels, just to show that he was thinking about her. She was lax about returning phone calls – Lionel liked to muse that it was because she was so busy rather than entertain any other likely possibility – and her postcards, from summits in England and visits to the Middle East, were often terse and restrained. Fortunately for him, it wasn't difficult to keep tabs on her these days, as she was often featured in the newspaper. He kept CNN playing on the television in a constant loop in his office, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, which he quite frequently did. She was becoming a major player in the party, and Lionel could not have been prouder of her.

That said, he was often discouraged by his political blog searches, as photographs of the Senator from Kansas being escorted about town by members of the party leadership or influential Washington elite often turned up therein. Lionel believed he knew Martha well enough to know that she was not involved in any kind of heavy relationship with any of these men, but the mere thought of her on another man's arm make him cringe with jealousy and, often, concern.

It had been nearly two years since that fateful Thanksgiving, when she had at last acknowledged that there was something between them. At the time, he had never dreamed it would be so long before anything came of the feelings they shared. He decided, eyeing the brandy on his desk, that tomorrow night would be the end-all that determined definitively whether their relationship was moving forward or forever at a standstill.

Clark Kent had gotten so used to seeing his mother's name running across the bottom of CNN newscasts and televised floor votes that he sometimes struggled to see her name as anything besides "U.S. Senator Martha Kent (D-KS)." The "D-KS" followed her name so often that Clark had begun referring to her as "D-KS," rather than "Mom," whenever he saw her or spoke to her on the phone, a new habit Martha was routinely unamused by. Upon retrieving her from the Metropolis Airport, he had been surprised that she had actually responded when he called out "Hey! D-KS!" to capture her attention from across the lobby. She rolled her eyes and sighed, her face breaking into a solid grin by the time she reached his side.

Martha had been reluctant to return to the farm, requesting that Clark take the long way back from Metropolis. As much as she relished in seeing her son, the farm had started to do little more than remind her of Jonathan. The house had felt so empty without him that she had almost been grateful when the opportunity had arised to move to DC and spend the majority of her time there. Every night she spent alone in her bedroom caused her remember just how lonely she was, and just how much she missed him. At her apartment in Washington, she felt like she was living an entirely different life, separate from the life she left behind in Smallville, and therefore spent less time thinking about how deeply she felt Jonathan's presence missing in her life.

The morning after her return, Clark knocked on her bedroom door, then let himself in. He stopped in the doorway, surprised to find her packing a small suitcase.

"What are you doing?"

Martha looked up, startled. "Oh, I have that fundraiser in Topeka tonight. It's never a good idea to make that long drive home after a night of drinking and schmoozing with the moneybags of the city. I thought I'd just stay over at a hotel."

"Are you sure?" Clark questioned with concern. "I can come pick you up, if you want."

"No, no. I'll be fine, sweetie, thank you."

Clark nodded, then looked up and noticed the dress draped across the bed. It was a sleek, silk, deep purple gown lined with lace, which boasted an extremely immodest, plunging neckline. He raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you're wearing tonight?"

"Yes," Martha repied, nonchalantly. "Why? You don't like it?"

"No, it's nice, I just…well, there's not exactly a whole lot going on in the…top area there."

She rolled her eyes at her overprotective son. "Clark."

"What? It's not a big deal, I guess I've just…figured out how you manage to sway some of the swing votes out there in Washington."

"Clark Kent!" Martha exclaimed, taking offense.

He chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Relax, Mom, I was kidding. It's good that you're…getting out there again."

"I am not getting out anywhere," she answered sternly, folding a sweater and placing it in the suitcase. "I'm just trying to fit in. Washington's not exactly receptive to jeans and plaid, you know."

"Yeah, but…you know, Mom, it's been almost three years since Dad died. I know he wouldn't want you to be alone any more than I'm sure you want to be alone."

Martha sighed and fixed him with her death glare. "I am not having this conversation with you, Clark."

Clark threw up his hands in defeat. "All right, all right, I surrender."

She smirked at him, one eyebrow lifted. "Wise move."

The sign outside the ballroom at the Hyatt told him he was in the right place when he arrived, and he entered the room with a strong air of confidence to mask his terror at seeing the object of his affection again. Lionel waltzed around the room, stopping only for those he felt were worthy of this company. He drank a bit too much champagne and occasionally crossed the line over into taboo topics of conversation. He talked politics with the mayor's daughter and explored the subject of religion with an ex-rabbi named Samuel, outwardly embracing all points of view, but inwardly judging those who disagreed with him. He avoided eye contact uncomfortably as he slowly backed away from a sparring couple whose recent foray into counseling had apparently done them more harm than good, and listened with reluctant interest to the winner of the most recent Pulitzer Prize in journalism. The characters present weren't atypical; he ran into the very same ones at each and every gathering of the privileged and high-minded he attended. It was a routine he had accepted and grown into. He no longer questioned the idiosyncrasies of the other guests or doubted his own. They were the same.

Though loosely engaged in a discussion about Piaget's theories of child development with a published psychiatrist, Lionel's eyes began to wander aimlessly. He admired the elaborate décor that dressed the ballroom and eyed the buffet with thoughts of returning to it a third time. He noticed his friends and his foes, heard the sharp hyena laugh of a certain man he never wished to do business with again, and smiled at a young couple in the corner, completely engrossed in one another. It was then, looking past the ice sculpture, that he saw her.

It had been too long for him to be sure, yet he was. It wasn't that she looked the same -- no, in fact, her hair was both shorter and darker, slightly layered to perfection, resting effortlessly on her shoulders -- it was looking _at_ her that felt the same. It wasn't her appearance, it was the feeling that overcame him upon seeing her. He could see no one else. There were voices, conversations wrapping around him, words that meant nothing, phrases that didn't quite make it into sentences.

There she was, talking to both the ex-rabbi and the mayor's daughter. He watched her smile, presumably in response to the ex-rabbi's laughable take on organized religion, and glance fleetingly in his direction. She turned back to her discussion, out of habit, then quickly her eyes darted back and met his. Her lips parted slightly and even from a distance he could see the sharp intake of breath. Conversations continued around her as they did around him, and no one seemed to notice the tears building up in her eyes. He wanted to turn his head, he wanted to look away, but as long as her eyes met his, there could be nothing else that interested him.

Suddenly he saw her begin to blink rapidly and knew she had been hit by reality. Flustered, she looked all around her, as if she had lost something, then excused herself from the circle she had, for the last five or ten minutes, been apart of. Her eyes locked with his, and he was rendered motionless as she slowly walked in his direction as her face broke into a radiant, knowing smile. He smiled back, struck by her beauty, the glow that surrounded her. So little had changed.

They moved toward one another, slowly closing the gap that separated them, both enthralled and slightly sheepish. When the gap had been closed, they stood in the middle of the dance floor, surrounding by couples in motion.

"Mr. Luthor."

"Senator Kent."

TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

_**2.**_

Lionel held both arms out to her, offering a dance, and she stepped into them easily. He slipped one arm around her waist and took her right hand in his. She smiled up at them as their feet rhythmically took over, more out of instinct than anything else.

He didn't know what to say; she fared no better. They danced slowly and in silence until the song came to its inevitable finish. As he did whenever she was near him, Lionel counted this moment as his greatest blessing. He relished in the feel of her thin, silk dress against his skin as he struggled to keep his hand resting in an appropriate place on her back. Her scent was strong; subtle, but powerful. After a minute, she leaned her head against his shoulder and he felt her soft hair against his face. He closed his eyes, committing both the feelings and the moment itself to memory. Sometimes he hated how weak she made him.

Soon, the music faded and the movements around them slowed considerably, and thus so did they. They broke apart slightly, avoiding eye contact with one another, unsure of what to do next. The problem, however, was solved for them when they were approached by a tall, impeccably dressed man with an incorrigible grin plastered on his face.

"Senator!" He advanced toward Martha with open arms.

Flushed, Martha took a deep breath and smiled. "Congressman Leighton, how are you?"

The Republican congressman from Oklahoma paused, observing her from top to bottom. "Much better now that I've laid eyes on you."

She smiled faintly and looked down, self-deprecatingly, noticing Lionel. "Oh, I'm sorry. Congressman Roy Leighton, this is Lionel Luthor. Lionel, Congressman Leighton."

"We've met," Lionel replied, reluctantly offering his hand to the other man, who accepted it just as reluctantly.

"Oh…"

"I'm sure Mr. Luthor won't mind if I steal you away for a bit," Congressman Leighton said, offering his arm to Martha. "Would you, Lionel?"

Lionel shook his head unconvincingly. Martha regarded him apologetically as she allowed Leighton to whisk her away. "We'll talk later," she assured him. Lionel nodded, and almost instantly she was far from view, leaving him both dejected and envious.

Nearly an hour later, Martha found Lionel outside on the empty terrace, taking in the view of the vast expanses of land owned by the hotel. She smiled knowingly and made her way toward him, while the sound of her heels clicked, announcing her presence to him. He turned his head as she reached him and gave her a smile before turning back to the view pensively.

"Well, aren't you Mr. Anti-Social tonight."

Lionel shrugged. "Not many here worth socializing with."

He was avoiding eye contact with her, she could tell. He was tired of dancing around their feelings for each other, tired of having to share her with others because no one recognized her as his. She sighed, never sure just how to act around him.

"I'm sorry about before," Martha offered, congenially. "Roy is an awfully determined man, but he's always been a friend and ally for me on the Hill, I couldn't refuse."

"I understand, Martha," Lionel replied, his smile transparent. "You don't have to explain anything to me."

"And anyway, I'd much rather dance with you than spend twenty minutes on the dance floor trying to keep Roy Leighton's hands from…exploring uncharted waters," Martha said, with a laugh.

He glanced at her fleetingly, then averted his eyes from hers once more.

"What is it?" She asked finally, getting in between his gaze and the view before him so he could ignore her no longer.

He hesitated, uncertain of whether or not he was overstepping his boundaries, crossing a line. He rarely knew for sure. "Do you know that it's been nearly two years since that Thanksgiving?" He paused, noting the puzzled expression on her face. "When you first acknowledged that there was something between us."

"Oh!" Martha gasped, the realization dawning upon her. "Oh. Has it really been that long?"

Lionel nodded. "Feels like a lot longer, especially with you halfway across the country."

"I'm sorry, Lionel," Martha said, with heartfelt genuity. "I just…"

He leaned forward slightly, with a quiet intensity that took her off-guard and sent a chill up and down her spine. "Do you know how long I've waited for you, Martha?" He questioned fervently. "Do you have any idea how many years I've been in love with you?"

Martha's eyes widened and her lips parted, but she was unable to form words. She couldn't believe this was finally happening. They were finally talking about this. Finally confronting it.

"Six years, Martha," Lionel admitted, his tone urgent but barely above a whisper. "All this time, I have been content waiting. Standing aside, staying out of your way, knowing how important your marriage was to you, envying your undying love for your husband. And after Jonathan died, I was nothing less than a friend to you. Always as careful as possible not to influence or pressure you in any way. I valued our relationship too much to jeopardize it, which is precisely why I exerted a bit of self-control and kept myself from kissing you. But it's been nearly two years since then, Martha. I can't tip-toe around anymore, I've outgrown the ability to pretend you're not all I think about when you're not around. I can't pretend to see anyone else when you're in the room." He took a deep breath before continuing. "If the feelings are not reciprocated, fine. I won't pretend I'm not devastated, but fine. It's the constant uncertainty, the imaginary lines that cannot be crossed…I cannot do that anymore. I won't."

Martha looked up at him, tears in his eyes, fear and anxiety etched across her face. His gaze held hers, questioning, longing, their real selves exposed and hanging out in the air to dry.

And with that, she bridged the few inches between her lips and his, and kissed him.

TBC.


	3. Chapter 3

_**3.**_

It was a tame kiss. A kiss of those who had kissed before, who had been kissing for years. Seasoned, practiced. No one would have believed their lips had never touched before.

It broke quickly, both of them afraid of going further, of what it would lead to, of what it would mean. Martha swiftly stepped back, pursing her lips. Lips that were out of practice, that were unaccustomed to anyone besides Jonathan Kent. She looked away from him, embarrassed by her own forwardness. Lionel looked down at her, breathless and taken aback. Scared, even. The shaken, unsure expression on her face worried him, as if he expected her to take off running like Cinderella at midnight.

She didn't. In the split seconds following the kiss, Martha closed her eyes and remembered the advice she had both heard and given time and time again: _Take control of your own destiny. _She repeated it silently to herself, hoping it would infuse her with strength and courage. _Take control of your own destiny. Take control of your own destiny_.

She looked up at him then, her eyes alit with passion and determination. She had to stop thinking, she told herself. She had to stop analyzing and assessing ad nauseum. This was her life, and she was never going to move forward unless she actually lived it. Lionel was waiting for her, as he had been for six years. His eyes burned into hers, inquisitive and fearful. She took a deep breath, then smiled.

He exhaled with relief, and returned her smile, tenfold. _God, she is beautiful._ He lifted a hand and ran his fingers lightly down her right arm. _Absolutely extraordinary_. She leaned in, her left hand resting on his chest.

"Give me half an hour."

He searched her shining eyes quizzically, then turned and watched in awe and confusion as she gracefully walked back across the moonlit terrace through the french doors that led to the ballroom. _Give me half an hour_. Lionel furrowed his eyebrows, thoroughly perplexed. Half an hour until what? She couldn't mean…no. It had taken them so long to reach where they finally were; surely it was unrealistic to expect things to suddenly start moving as such a rapid pace.

Lionel remembered then what an unpredictable, multi-faceted, and complex woman Martha Kent was. A devoted farmer's wife, fiercely loyal, cautious, and steadfast, but also a savvy businesswoman and politician, fiery and strong-minded. With such a wildly versatile nature, there was no telling what she had meant.

Twenty-five minutes later, Lionel found Martha mingling amongst fellow partygoers, with her back to him. He noticed, as he very slowly and deliberately walked in her direction, for the first time that the dress was nearly backless. He admired her from afar, observing the astonishing things the long, silk dress did for her already flawless figure. The length of the dress, in a fruitful partnership with the vintage two-inch heels, added to her height what was normally lacking. The deep shade of purple highlighted her faultless skin and brought out the shimmering, nuanced color of her auburn hair. What a shame it was, he thought, that her husband was so rarely blessed with the opportunity to see her in such an elegant, graceful state.

As he stood to the side, allowing his thoughts to be consumed by her, she turned around and left the small group she had been surrounded by, catching him in the act of shamelessly staring at her. She smiled, rendered both thrilled and self-conscious by his attention. She moved toward him, her smile growing more and more radiant the closer she got to him.

"Ready?" Martha questioned casually.

He lifted a curious eyebrow. "For?"

"I have a room at the Four Seasons," she replied, as if it should have been common knowledge. "I thought we might have a drink."

Lionel grinned and offered his arm to her. "Well, I'm certainly in no position to refuse such a tantalizing proposal from beautiful lady."

Martha took the arm he offered and allowed him to escort her out of the ballroom. Though a smile was plain on her face, she found herself involuntarily clenching her fists to keep her hands from shaking.

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

_**4.**_

Lionel insisted upon taking his limo to the hotel across town despite Martha's initial refusals. They sat side by side in the backseat, careful not to touch or speak, both afraid that a single word or movement might shatter the dream. When she noticed the glistening sign that designated The Four Seasons come into view, Martha finally turned to him.

"You know, I…never thanked you for getting me here," she said, quietly.

Lionel grinned and shrugged his shoulders, regarding her with amusement. "It's just a limo ride, Martha."

"No, no," Martha shook her head fervently. "Not the limo ride. Lionel, if it wasn't for you, for your faith and encouragement, I never would have had the courage to take over Jonathan's senate seat, and I certainly never would have found the strength to go all the way to Washington. I've never thanked you for that."

"Martha," Lionel said, reaching over and covering her hand with his. "You don't need to thank me. I'm just grateful you let me in enough for my opinion to mean something to you. I know how difficult it was for you to learn to trust me. Everything I did, all the wisdom I somehow managed to impart to you, I was able to do because of your willingness to forgive, your kind heart and open mind." When he locked eyes with her, he saw that hers were filled with tears, and so he smiled. "I would say our relationship has been mutually beneficial, wouldn't you?"

Martha blinked back her tears, returned his smile, and nodded in assent. The limousine then pulled into front entrance of the hotel, dragging them back into the reality of the moment.

"Still up for that drink?" He asked.

She took a deep breath. "Absolutely."

Lionel's chauffeur exited the front seat and opened the door on his side. Lionel stepped out of the car, then cordially offered Martha his hand to help her out as well. They walked into the hotel in tandem, not noticing the many pairs of eyes glued to them as they traveled through the lobby. The elevator brought them to the eleventh floor and after a moment, they reached Martha's hotel room at the end of the hall. Even Lionel was in awe of the size and quality of the room, observing it with pleasure and envy.

"This is quite a room, Senator."

Martha dropped her purse on the couch and chuckled. "The United States Senate is adamant about putting up its members in style. They insisted, you know this is far beyond my taste."

"No, on the contrary, it suits you. You would do well amongst such luxurious elegance," Lionel replied.

Martha smiled and approached the well-stocked bar in the corner of the living area. "What'll it be?"

"Oh, no," Lionel said, moving toward the bar himself. "Allow me."

She stepped back accordingly. "Suit yourself."

"How about a glass of brandy?"

"Ah, that _is_ your preference, isn't it?" Martha smiled, one eyebrow raised, and walked over to the fireplace. With one touch of a button, it was aflame. It startled her a bit, but she didn't let on.

"Seems to be," Lionel replied. "The bottle you sent me yesterday was marvelous, thank you."

She stood before the fireplace, watching the flames change color as they rose and fell, and allowing her nerves a chance to catch up with her. "You finished it already?" She asked, facetiously.

"Well," he said, still fixing their drinks. "To be quite honest, when your note mentioned seeing me tonight, I had to drink myself into oblivion to keep from thinking about you all night because you, Martha Kent, have the ability to keep a man awake like no one else I've ever known."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered," Martha remarked, inwardly attempting to soothe her own nerves without letting it show.

He picked up the two glasses and advanced toward her. "Flattered, I assure you." Walking up behind her, he handed her a glass and involuntarily, off-handedly placed his right hand on her waist. Without missing a beat, he quickly pulled it away again.

Martha took a deep breath, placing her glass down on the mantle of the fireplace, and reached behind her. She took hold of his shy right hand and returned it to its previous place on her waist, and Lionel's heart stopped. With her other hand, she reached back to take his drink out of his hand, place it beside hers, then move his last remaining free hand to the other side of her waist. She drew both hands together across her lower abdomen, causing his arms to surround and protect her. She leaned back into him, relaxing considerably, closing her eyes.

Lionel, on the other hand, was suddenly more nervous than ever. All he wanted to do was hold her until she melted into his embrace and relish in the moment, but he could not stop all of the endless thoughts running through his head. _Can this be happening? After all this time? _He wasn't entirely sure he trusted himself not to be dreaming. He chased the thoughts out of his mind and told himself to focus on the woman in his arms.

"Martha…" He whispered, almost unconsciously, his warm breath in her ear.

She pulled his arms tighter around her and covered his hands with hers, resting on purple silk covering her stomach. "When Jonathan came out of his coma all those years ago," Martha said, softly, speaking with a slow, methodical rhythm. "He gave me very specific instructions of what to do in…in the event of his…death. He said I had to find someone who would put me first, sacrifice his own life before mine. He told me I had to find someone strong but sensitive, who would understand the dire importance of knowing and keeping Clark's secret. Someone who smiles whenever he sees me, stops what he's doing whenever I walk into the room." She paused, breathing deeply to keep from breaking down. "I cried and told him I never would, I never wanted to find anyone else. But I think it would give him comfort to know I had someone in my corner."

Lionel leaned into her, his lips centimeters from her left shoulder. "I don't imagine I was what Jonathan had in mind."

She turned around in his arms very suddenly then, looking up at him with a sense of urgency. "Sometimes I think I've found that in you, and then sometimes…" She trailed off, breaking eye contact with him.

He lifted her chin gently to look her in the eye again. "You've found it, Martha." He gave her a slight nod and smile, reaffirming his words. "You've found it."

Martha smiled, sliding her hands up his chest before wrapping her arms around his neck; his arms tightened around her waist in response. "To Martha, with deep affection, L.L."

Lionel frowned, puzzled. "What?"

"The watch," she replied. "The first gift you ever gave me." She bit her lip, then chuckled. "Thoroughly inappropriate at the time."

He grinned, entranced by the suddenly relaxed and comfortable woman in his arms. "Where is it now?"

Martha smirked mischievously. "Jonathan smashed it."

"Oh," Lionel responded, unsure how to react. "Well, I…"

She shook her head, her eyes shining. "Don't say anything, okay?"

Pushing herself up on her tip-toes, she captured his lips with hers, kissing him deeply. He pulled her even closer, their bodies molding together, as he responded in kind. She ran her fingers through his hair while his lips travel down her neck. Tilting her head back to give him more access, she closed her eyes and exhaled. "Lionel."

"Hmm," he murmured, not moving his lips from the soft skin behind her ear.

She pulled away slightly and took his hand. With a playful shimmer in her eyes, she lifted both eyebrows seductively and slowly led her eager partner into the bedroom.

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

_**5. **_

Martha walked from one side of the room to the other, drawing the curtains closed. Lionel stood against the closed door, watching her graceful movements and glow about her as she blocked the moonlight from view. She turned around and caught his eye from across the room. She smiled, then quickly advanced toward him and walked into his waiting arms. He drew her close, one steady hand on her lower back, the other gently stroking her cheek.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Lionel asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Martha smiled, almost mischievously. "Would I have dragged you into the bedroom like this if it wasn't?"

"I went willingly, Senator," he replied, returning the smile as his lips inched closer to hers. "You have me."

Her lips took his eagerly then, as she stood on her tiptoes to reach him. He leaned in and was surprised by the fervid passion that seemed to emanate from her. He had never expected her to want him as badly as he had always wanted her.

His lips moved from her neck to her shoulders as she hurriedly began unbuttoning his shirt. Halfway down, she stopped, inhaling sharply when he hit a sensitive spot. She felt his lips form a smile against her skin before he lifted his head to look down at her rapturous expression. He kissed her quickly, then took over the task of unbuttoning. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, ran her hands down his chest, then took a step back.

Martha took a long, deep breath and closed her eyes. She had never been particularly shy about her body, but it had been almost three years since anyone had seen it besides her, and twenty-five years since anyone besides Jonathan had. After a moment, she opened her eyes, then reached up and freed the clasp that held the halter dress together at her neck, letting it fall to the floor, a silk puddle at her feet.

For what seemed like hours, Lionel could not breathe.

"I…well, you know, I haven't been to the gym in awhile, and…" Martha trailed off, anxious and self-conscious. "I just…I haven't had anyone to impress in…a long time, so…"

"Martha," Lionel whispered, holding up one hand to stop her. "You are…exquisite."

She exhaled with relief, her breath momentarily catching in her throat as she did so. He moved toward her, slowly and deliberately, so overcome with emotion that he wasn't sure what he was going to do with her once he got to her.

"Better than you imagined?" She questioned, one eyebrow raised.

His lips parted slightly, feigning shock. "Why, I never…" She glared at him knowingly, causing him to smirk and shrug his shoulders. "Well, maybe once or twice." She nodded, pleased to be right. "You can hardly blame me."

With only inches between them, Martha looked up at him alluringly. "Better? Or worse?"

"Now, Martha," Lionel replied softly, tracing a line from her shoulders down to her waist. "You know just as well as I do…" With a hand on the small of her back, he pulled her against him. "What a trick question…that is."

Her lips were soft and welcoming when he leaned in to kiss them with all the passion that had been gathering inside him for over six years. They fell back onto the bed, and as Martha grew accustomed to the feel of another man against her skin, Lionel had to convince himself the moment was real, the woman moving beneath him was real, and every second of the past six years had been worth it.

The feeling lasted all night, but when Martha awoke the next morning and felt his body resting against hers, his arm draped across her waist, she closed her eyes tightly, hoping to stop the tears before they began flowing.

He wasn't Jonathan.

**TBC.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Anyone out there still remember this story? Sorry for the delay. Summer has not been good to me in terms of inspiration, but I'm slowly getting back into it. Enjoy. :)**

**6.**

She was dressed and packing when Lionel woke up. He squinted his eyes, clearing all remnants of sleep, and zeroed in on her figure, running back and forth from the bathroom to the bedroom, dropping toiletries in her suitcase. He smiled, remembering the night before. He still couldn't quite grasp it. He propped himself up on elbow and raised his eyebrows.

"Going somewhere?"

Startled, she stopped in the doorway, eye wide as if caught in an illicit act. She pushed her hair behind her ears, as she did whenever she was nervous, and shifted her weight to one side.

"Uh."

Lionel frowned, sensing an air of discontent he hadn't sensed before. "Trying to make a clean break of it?"

She took a deep breath, not meeting his gaze, and began approaching the bed slowly. "I…" Halfway there, she paused, suddenly taken aback by the site of him in bed, in the bed that they'd shared all night. She remembered how gentle he had been, yet so fervent. She had been so disconnected, and had even caught herself thinking of Jonathan once or twice. But Lionel had been so grateful, so generous. She couldn't ignore how badly he had wanted it. "I'm sorry, Lionel."

He pursed his lips, dreading what it seemed likely she would tell him. "Sorry for what?"

Martha looked away, tapping the toothbrush she was holding against her palm repeatedly, a nervous tick. "I thought I was ready…"

"You _are_ ready, Martha," Lionel insisted, sitting up fully. "But that doesn't mean the first time is easy. It's been three years. Ready or not, you're bound to feel a little resistant. The change doesn't happen overnight."

She sighed, then sat on the edge of the bed, with her back to him. "I was thinking of him."

Lionel closed his eyes, hurt by the words, then nodded knowingly. "I know."

Martha turned her head, surprised. "You do?"

"Well, you weren't all there, I figured you were either thinking of Jonathan or Robert Redford, my guess was Jonathan."

She scooted over a little, now adjacent to him. "It's not fair to you. You've waited so long…"

"That's right." He nodded. "So what makes you think I'm likely to give up now?" Martha turned and locked eyes with him, and he saw that hers were brimming with tears. He leaned forward, taking her hand. "You're doing fine, Martha."

She nodded, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "He would hate this."

Lionel glanced down, away from her gaze. "He would want what you want."

Quietly, she whispered, "I'm not sure what I want."

"You seemed pretty sure last night," he replied, meeting her eyes fleetingly, to gauge her reaction, before looking away again.

Martha shrugged. "Heat of the moment."

"Heat indeed."

She felt her lips curve into a reluctant smile as she rolled her eyes at him. After a minute, her expression transformed into one of a forlorn, confused woman. "Lionel…" She hesitated, biting her lip. "You know we'll never be able to have a…_real_ relationship."

He pulled his hand away from hers and leaned back against the headboard, sighing reflectively. He had feared hearing the words, yet had always known them to be the truth. Though part of him wondered if the chase had been half the appeal anyway. No, he thought, looking at her. Just part of the fun. "I understand."

"I'm surprised you still want me," Martha said, as if reading his mind. "Now that you have me."

He looked at her seriously, his expression nothing less than genuine. "I always want you."

She smiled, and Lionel couldn't determine whether she was happy to hear this or sad. She had always wondered why he had such strong feelings for her. Not that she was particularly self-deprecating, but she wanted to know why he, Lionel Luthor specifically, had always been so crazy about her. She was never quite sure of anything except that he was.

As she studied his face, nervous and eager, enamored and patient, she suddenly felt her muscles loosen a bit and her lips curved into a wider, slightly more seductive smile. Despite the improbability of a relationship between them and the damaging problems he had caused her family, she couldn't deny that it was nice to be wanted. She had experienced the lust directed at her from the oversexed men in Washington, but somehow it wasn't that same. Lionel wanted her in more ways than they did, and had for so long. That, she acknowledged, was worth quite a bit to her.

Martha stood then, feeling unexpectedly confident, discarding the purple suit jacket she had donned while he was asleep. He watched her curiously and intently, entranced by her every move. When the jacket hit the floor, she kicked off her high heels and began unbuttoning her silk blouse, her eyes never leaving him. As her undressing progressed, Lionel's eyes widened with both desire and astonishment. Though he had known her for so many years, her ability to surprise him continually amazed him. Her blouse fell to the floor beside the jacket and she reached behind her to unzip her form-fitting, purple pencil skirt, and soon it was the latest to join to rapidly growing pile of clothing. She crawled into bed then, pleased by the stunned and delighted expression on his face, and hovered over him, smiling deviously.

"Why, Martha Kent," he breathed, smiling widely. "There are few people in this world who have rendered me speechless. You…" He was cut off by her lips, taking his by force, her scantily clad body pressing his down further into the bed.

Breaking the kiss, she grinned with wily satisfaction. "You were saying?"

He shook his head, partly at her and partly due to his unwillingness to say anymore. As their hands began to roam again, Lionel knew that this time, she was thinking of him. And though neither one of them knew what would become of their little patchwork relationship the next day, it would do them no good to think about it now.

END.


End file.
